


Fellows Will Fall in Line

by inksheddings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, Scott, and application of the five-second rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fellows Will Fall in Line

**Author's Note:**

> I read so much porn in this fandom and what do I end up writing for my first effort? Gen. Ah well! :D 
> 
> Thanks to ignipes for explaining to me that quantum kitchens do not exist and straightening out my timeline. Thanks to whymzycal for the beta magic she so diligently delivers. 
> 
> The title is, um, stolen from “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” by Rodgers and Hammerstein. I'm not entirely sure it's appropriate, but I couldn't get it out of my head.

** Fellows Will Fall in Line **

“Didn't you have plans with your mom tonight?” Stiles asks, filling a pot with water and placing it on the stove. 

“Yeah, we did,” Scott answers. “We had dinner, went to the movies. Then she hugged me within an inch of my life for, like, ten minutes.” Scott scrunches up his face like he's just sucked on a lemon. “She does that a lot lately.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, well, it hasn't been nearly long enough since she found out about werewolves and lizard people. She'll probably keep doing that for a while.” 

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “But, anyway, it's kinda late now?” Scott looks at the clock on the stove as if to confirm what Stiles already knows. “She's actually asleep.”

Stiles nods and turns the burner on under the pot.

“She asked about you,” Scott adds.

Stiles looks at Scott as he opens the fridge. There's just enough milk left, but he'll have to skimp a bit on the butter. 

Scott has this look on his face that isn't hard to decipher.

Ah.

In all the horror, confusion, and activity that followed the debacle that was Gerard Argent (all the Argents, really) and Jackson, it wasn't hard for Stiles to give Scott a hearty clap on the back and get the hell out of there. He hadn't been needed. Everyone was alive—including Peter fucking Hale. Jackson even had what he wanted (as well as who Stiles wanted), and really, who was Stiles to stick around and mop up a mess he'd had no hand in creating? That was Derek's job, and fuck him. Stiles supposes he could have stayed around to make sure that Scott wasn't drowning in the misery of his own personal Argent drama. But the way Scott was watching Allison, Stiles was pretty sure he'd put misery on hold for anticipation. Which was fine, it was good, but it wasn't something Stiles was in the mood to take notes about.

So Stiles went home, checked in with his dad, and tried not to feel much of anything at all. Sleep hadn't come, though, because the longer he lay in bed, the more his body started to ache with the pain of the sound beating he'd taken. Stiles ended up crawling into bed with his dad. He rested his forehead against a cool shoulder and didn't squirm away from the kiss placed on the top of his head. Stiles took comfort from the first moment of absolute honesty he'd shared with his dad in far, far too long.

But that was a week ago, so back to the look on Scott's face. 

Stiles hadn't actually seen much of Scott since the night Gerard disappeared. They'd talked on the phone and texted, but neither of their parents had felt like letting them out of their sight or even out the door. Stiles had felt honest surprise when Scott showed up tonight. He'd figured if he was going out after midnight, it'd be to try to see Allison. So, yeah, they hadn't had much of a chance to talk face-to-face about everything that had happened.

“What are you making?” Scott asks.

Stiles grabs the box of mac 'n cheese from the cupboard and shakes it. 

Scott's eyebrows practically reach his hairline as he asks, “Do you have the Velveeta kind?” 

“No,” Stiles replies. He reaches back into the cupboard. “But I have an extra box.”

Scott grins and Stiles' hunger pains multiply tenfold. 

This, right here—this is familiar. This is comforting. Chowing down on mac 'n cheese with Scott in the kitchen while Scott's mom or Stiles' dad worked the night shift. This is normal. This is something Stiles desperately wants for just one hour, please, just one hour.

“Hey, the water's boiling.”

Stiles takes a look into the pot and gives Scott his most affectionate you-stupid-fuck look. “Dude, that is not a rolling boil. I could stick my finger in there without fear of needing even a Band-Aid.”

“Tough guy, huh?” Scott teases, poking Stiles in the chest.

“Uh, no. I just know how to boil water.”

Next thing Stiles knows, there's half a box of macaroni spilled over the kitchen floor and he and Scott are rolling around in it, pushing and shoving and punching and—god help them—even tickling each other until they are both out of breath and Stiles feels ...

Stiles feels all of sixteen. 

Yeah.

“Stiles?

“Hmm.”

“Gerard could have killed you.”

Stiles turns toward Scott, who looks ridiculous lying on the floor covered in macaroni. He doesn't know what Scott wants him to say, so he just shrugs.

“No, he really could have killed you, Stiles.”

Okay, fine.

“Yeah, he could have,” Stiles says. “Or Jackson could have. Or Peter or Derek or even Allison. _Yes,_ Scott.”

“Or me.”

There's that look again.

“But you didn't,” Stiles says, pushing himself up off the floor and brushing macaroni off his clothes. “Nobody did.”

“But you could have—I could have.”

Stiles isn't ready for this conversation, not when his back still twinges where Gerard had gotten in a particularly vicious kick. But Scott wants to talk, the kitchen is warm, and there is no apocalyptic event currently taking up their time. They might not be able to say the same tomorrow.

“Okay. But, dude. This conversation? Would go a lot better over a bowl of mac 'n cheese.”

Scott smiles, slowly, until the damn thing takes over most of his face. He jumps up and gives Stiles a hand, holding on and pulling him over to the stove to check on the water. Their time communing on the kitchen floor has not been kind to Stiles' culinary efforts. Nearly half the water has turned into steam.

“Ha! Told you it was boiling,” Scott says triumphantly, tempting Stiles to throw what's left of the water right at his stupid face. He's a werewolf, he'll heal. But that reminds Stiles of Peter Hale, and that's nowhere he wants to go right now, so he just adds more water to the pot and puts it back on the stove. He also contemplates whether spilled macaroni is subject to the five second rule.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't think you've got enough butter for two boxes. Or, uh, one and a half boxes.”

Scott picks up the open box of Kraft in his hand and starts refilling it with the spilled macaroni. It's been a lot longer than five seconds. But it's been a lot longer than a week, too. For Scott and Stiles, it's been nearly a lifetime. 

“Nah,” Stiles says, helping Scott with the last few pieces. “We'll manage.” 

“Cool.”

 

**end**


End file.
